Tim Heath Thriller Boxset

by Tim Heath

  The call was listened to by the African secret service, a team having bugged the telephones in the office the previous day. The two ladies looked at each other with interest. It seemed Clive had found something. It was not clear what that was yet, as Clive, aware of all the dirty tricks out there, was not one to say too much over the phone. They'd tapped enough lines themselves to know that one by now.

  It was the early hours of a dull new day, not that John had any idea what the weather was doing on any particular day. His light was constant and artificial, though thankfully it was turned off during the night. Even then, there was a strip of light that came through under the door, and the machines around him had various lights on that never went off. Total darkness was just not possible.

  John had got used to this by now, and his sleep was helped by the painkillers he was having fed to him through the drip, though these were already starting to be reduced as the worst of his wounds were beginning to heal nicely.

  Lorna had been in briefly that morning to see John but was now preparing some new bedsheets for him. One of his leg wounds had made a mess on the bed covers the previous night, so the sheet needed to be changed. She came back in, holding the small pile of bedsheets carefully in her hands, a smile on her face that defied the earliness of the hour. Due to many factors, John was a light sleeper, and over the last few weeks, Lorna was fast becoming one herself.

  She took away the dirty sheets, and with a little help from John who moved one way and then the other, they got the bed changed. He liked the smell of the new sheets; it must have been the washing powder, something about it taking him back to, as yet, unconscious memories. Maybe it was the same washing powder used in his childhood, perhaps something much nearer? He could only guess. Maybe he just liked it for the here, and now it represented. He was gaining strength, and he would get through this. It wasn't such an awful time after all. And he got to spend most of his time with Lorna, who was beginning to grow on him the more he got to know her. He wasn't sure what he felt for her yet. There was so much of his life that he still didn't understand. But he knew already that he enjoyed her company. Her smile was often the first thing that greeted him, especially in the early days, when he'd first woken from those visions and hadn't known what to do.

  Last night, now clear from any further visions, had given him his first dream. Nothing from the past, it was a combination of what had been around him for the past few weeks, as well as his books that he was starting to devour on a daily basis. And as Lorna made them both a hot drink and came over to him, placing his cup carefully next to his bed, he couldn't wait to tell her.

  “I had a dream last night. We were in a spaceship.” She was taking a mouthful of tea so didn't say anything straight away.

  “That sounds fun.”

  “It was kind of strange. My first dream in a long time, and different to the visions. I guess it makes the distinction clearer for me. The dream was quite short, fleeting really. I guess just a few moments. We were together on a spaceship orbiting some planet. I don't think it was a real one. We were passengers. It was quite amusing really.”

  John was in excellent spirits today, and Lorna was happy about that. The previous few days had been tough, a lot of ground covered. Now it was the waiting game: how long it would take for him to get up and about, how quickly he could start walking and carry his weight. If John couldn't walk he wouldn't be able to get himself to where he needed to be, to do what everyone needed, and hoped, he would do. The longer it took, the more danger there was for everyone. The situation on the base was increasingly unstable. An explosion, if not imminent, was an inevitable outcome. That news was not public knowledge, nor was John's central role in the only solution. Both would be kept secret for as long as it was possible. It was hoped no one would find out, or at least not until long after the dust had settled and things had once again returned to normal. What normal looked like, it was unclear. Things had changed so much around them all, for so long now, that this was becoming normal. It was hard for Lorna to think of life beyond the hospital and yet, she told herself it all now depended on her actions and those of John. She kept herself from assuming the best, in case it might distract her, in case she missed something vital. There was no happy ending if things didn't work out as they had planned. And the plan was far from risk-free. It was untested, unknown and all new. They had one attempt at it, and after that, if they failed, it would be the end. There was not one government projection that had anything but a disastrous outcome if they were to fail with the program to which John was so central. The pressure they were all under was immense.

  Those watching noticed how John followed her, how his attention was on Lorna whenever she was in the room. How he would look at her body when she wasn't watching him. John was undoubtedly developing a thing for her, and this was reported to Lorna as one would say the weather. Everything was being used to their advantage. Nothing would get missed, no opportunity left anything but fully exploited. She was told to develop this, or at least fan his side more into flame. In herself, Lorna wondered, if push came to shove, to what lengths she would go. That thought troubled her. She was afraid of who she had become.

  John was watching Lorna again, and she was now more aware of it. He took in her chest. The uniform was working in that regard, a small amount of cleavage visible. Lorna tried not to be bothered by this, on some levels liking the admiration from a man, though it was far too soon for her even to be thinking like that. She hadn't got to bury her James yet. There wasn't a body to bury, nor would there be. The area where he breathed his last was too exposed to the lethal poison that had killed so many thousands and would kill so many more. It wasn't the first time a patient had had a thing for his nurse, nor was it the first time it had happened with her. It was an all too common occurrence and sometimes meant she'd needed to swap with another nurse, someone less like the patients type. With John, this was not an option, and neither was their situation like those other patients. They had shared a very similar experience, even if that had been from different sides of the visions, but a shared history nonetheless. For John, the visions had been real. He was being told things that were to come; and John was to talk this all through with his nurse, an angel of which he was becoming so fond. For Lorna, she was to be there to listen. Aware of the basis of each vision, she was to help him feel grounded in reality, and to help him see his way through to outworking what the visions were showing him he needed to do. It wasn't as if Lorna didn't find John attractive. It was as if, in her head anyway, it was an inappropriate situation and any form of relationship, besides the patient/nurse one, was just not right. In this unique situation, she did understand the need to help develop a strong connection between the two of them, regardless of what that got called from John's side of things. She was clear how she felt.

  The more she continued, the more hard-nosed she became. It became a results situation. The ends would justify the means, and over the next few days, she would surprise herself by just how far she would take that thinking.

  That same morning, a team of ten from a SAS base in the south of England were deployed to stake out the hospital. The operation was to be covert. It was best, as much as possible, to remain in the shadows and take note of anyone showing unwanted interest in the hospital rather than to be the obvious targets that others might work around. As yet, those others were a faceless foreign intelligence agency whose intention they were convinced was hostile. Two men stationed themselves some distance away, as another three made their way towards the outskirts of the hospital. A quick sweep of the perimeter was made, anti-bugging scanners used. If any unconfirmed communications were being used, they would pick them up. It was a very swift and military-like manoeuvre to the informed eye, but to the passer-by, it would readily appear to have just been someone checking gas readings or searching for lost metal.

  From their vantage point, the African secret service team that was also watching the hospital, saw the arrival of the group, with three men get
ting out and walking around the building. They could recognise the work of fellow special forces, and it was clear that they had arrived. The two that remained in the vehicle drove and based themselves at another prime position. It was the other option that they too had considered before focusing themselves on the main doors, their current spot giving them that vantage point. They immediately turned off their communication devices, as the three-man team some distance in front of them, started their scan.

  Both the Africans looked at each other in silence, the girl behind the driving seat putting the key into the ignition and started the engine. They pulled away quickly, two SAS agents spotting a vehicle leaving, but there was nothing unusual about that outside a busy hospital. They drove off without raising any alarms, as the team of three continued their circuit. Twenty minutes later when the three men had circled the building entirely, they broke into their positions. One guy headed inside to speak with the team stationed outside John's room, guarding him. Another went to work with the person monitoring the hospitals CCTV network, and another two went to set up the lockdown of the hospital, with security screening machines moved into the main entrance, making coming and going a slow, more difficult process. Records would be kept, and IDs checked for everyone wanting admission to the hospital. It was effectively now closed to outsiders. The remaining members of the SAS team, stationed outside, were keeping watch over the fire escapes at the back, as well as the only car park that visitors could use. The team would rotate around the clock, with another five personnel on hand to help with the change of shifts. It was an operation of the highest level, like that of a Presidential visit or an official engagement by the Queen. The preparation was vital, as was staying mostly undetected.

  Now at a safe distance, the two African secret service agents who had just left the hospital reported in that British special forces had moved into the hospital. It only confirmed what they were already expecting. Somewhere in the hospital building, this man was being kept. The British were either staying very quiet about everything or, more likely; the patient was not yet in a fit state to talk. Until they could work out what exactly his condition was, they could not fully decide on their course of action. The presence of the SAS, as it was rightly assumed to be, was only adding complication to the matter. They still had their shield: Clive and his team. They reminded themselves of this, and more focus was to be given to that side of the operation. If Clive could be encouraged to make enough noise, maybe it would create an opportunity for them to sneak in, an excellent old-fashioned diversion, even if Clive had no idea of his part in it all. And it did seem, from the telephone calls buzzing around so far, that Clive was getting closer. He was on the charge and determined to get answers. Unknown to him, his life was very much in danger.

  The Africans would keep watching, often close but staying in the shadows. Like the great predators that roam their continent, they were watching from afar, in the darkness. Watching and waiting. Ready to pounce at the slightest invitation. It would not be long before that window presented itself.

  19

  The following morning at the offices of the newspaper, the two young reporters that Clive had sent to the hospital reported back. An hour's debriefing had just finished, a list of thousands of names spread all around the conference table that had been brought into Clive's office, taking much of the remaining space. In total, their investigation had been able to put about ninety per cent of the names to the patients that were occupying the beds. The truth, when they found it out, was shocking. Some patients were lying on sofas, or tables, even on the floor. Beds had run out as quickly as the hand gel had. It had been the least of their troubles. There was no way they could turn people away, and it had been a miracle that they had made it that far in the first place. All the other hospitals nearby were in the same situation. It was agreed that, for now, those stories should wait. They needed to focus on the ongoing disaster, with stories about hope and of hospitals that were going way beyond in their efforts to save a life. No one needed to hear about primitive, almost barbaric conditions, and patients found dead in beds unnoticed for two days. Blood that had not been cleaned up in a week. It was not unlike a scene from a horror film, something the two young reporters would never forget. Those stories would have to wait if ever shared at all. This was wartime recovery. That was the stance around the conference table that morning as the report was being given. Clive could see that the time in the hospital had had a traumatic effect on his two junior employees. Given the conditions, Clive had even more admiration for the excellent work they'd been able to do.

  A large-scale plan of the hospital also lay open on the table. Green highlighters were used to indicate a room where the patient's name was known, and a yellow was used to indicate a room they were aware of, with no name for the patient. This accounted for a very high proportion of the space available, the assumption being that nearly every available room was now being used to house patients. Some of the communal areas had been spotted too: the canteen, the small staff rooms, including their rest areas. Toilets were marked. All these places were coloured with a blue highlighter on the plans that lay before them all. Which left a small handful of rooms, all illuminated in bright red. These gave them their most realistic areas of where John might be held. A few of these eight places that remained were small and in quite public areas. They had just been missed from the general search when the two young reporters had started going from room to room. What remained of the rest were more secluded areas, three well-protected places at that.

  As lunch arrived, four boxes of fresh pizza delivered from a nearby pizza place, they felt they now had their search area and, as a top priority, they needed to locate these eight remaining rooms. They would focus on the three central ones currently highlighted in red, to confirm or deny whether their man, John Westlake, was being treated there.

  The call for the pizzas had been made forty minutes before, so when a small car pulled up, fresh pizzas taken from the back seat, it was apparent for whom they were intended. One of the African ladies watching the offices had been there to meet the driver, paying him in full for the pizza and taking them off him, herself walking into the building and taking the lift to the top floor. She was led towards Clive's office now and delivered the pizzas herself. There was an excited hum in the room as she arrived and walked over to put the pizzas on the main desk. Someone went to get some money from petty cash.

  She got out her phone, as if to make a call, and took a photo of the highly coloured hospital plans. No one else noticed, too absorbed in their work that the presence of a delivery driver did not attract their attention. She was given the money, and a small tip, and walked away with more money than she'd paid the driver downstairs, as well as a photo of the hospital plans which could now lead them straight to John.

  She left the building unchallenged and went straight to her colleague. They looked at the photo quickly, happy at the outcome, and sent it straight on to HQ for them to print and distribute. The net was closing. Their moment was drawing closer. Still, they needed to wait. They needed to be patient, for just a little while longer.

  Later that afternoon, Clive himself went with one young female employee to the hospital. She was twenty-three, and he fancied his chances. Clive had always been one to mix business with pleasure, at least to try to anyway. His reputation was such that the others in the room knew he would try something on when he announced he was taking her with him. She, for the most part, was unaware.

  The journey to the hospital had been uneventful, and they'd arrived and parked up as the afternoon was just starting to show signs of drawing in. The earlier warmth of the sun, which had baked them as they were getting into the car, had lost most of its intensity. They arrived at the main doors of the hospital and were surprised to see metal detectors in place; nothing had been said of these by the other two. Security was tight. It was the girl who spoke up as they both approached the guards.

  “I'm looking for my brother, Michael Brown. The r
eport online told us he was here. Dad agreed we should come straight away.”

  Clive looked at her and thought to himself. Clever girl. Smart and attractive. She does have a future.

  They both went through the security scanners and signed into the visitor's book, Emma taking the lead to go first, writing her name neatly so that Clive could copy the surname. She passed the guy her ID and smiled at him. He seemed to like this and, while casually checking her ID, smiled back. Clive didn't have anything on him, of course, but played the part of the panic-stricken parent well. He looked close to tears. They quickly walked off down the corridor, as the SAS guy came over to check how things had been going with the guard on duty. Since identification had not been confirmed on the male visitor, he had harsh words with the guard and set off to look for them both straight away.

  Emma and Clive were working from their recollection of the plans of the hospital, though they did have a simple backup copy on a mobile phone in case they needed it. They had already covered their first target room, which was empty of patients; it was a small office supply store cupboard. Boxes of white printer paper took most of the space, not that there was much to start. They mentally crossed it off in their heads. One down, seven to go. They were approaching the second of their target rooms, guards visible up ahead when the SAS officer caught up with them.

  “Excuse me, can I ask what you are both doing?” he demanded.